Marble
by Matrix-Twin1
Summary: Oh oh oh, can't give it away! Dark 'n' angsty, if that's what you're up for.


"Grantaire?"

A shakiness, a blurred halo of a world, that he's come to know (and even, perhaps, love) so well. Drunk.

A floating pair of glasses. Amused, he bats at them, finding himself giggling ever so slightly. Floating glasses. Silliness. He's used to it by now; random, distracted images, making no or less sense, thrust upon him to conflict, to conglomerate, sometimes to converse. Ah, accidental alliteration. Giggle. Again.

Shaking. "Grantaire!"

His name…sometimes…sometimes it takes a while…

The glasses grow a mouth. Some hair. A bizarre, sped-up caricature, like watching an artist draw at fifty times the normal speed. A figure emerges. Guess, guess if you can. Oh! I know you!

"Combeferre!"

The figure nods, gives a grim smile. "Grantaire…"

A sense of repetition; he's said this before.

Grantaire shakes his head, coming back to himself. He sits up, shakily. Something's wrong, he feels it, smells it, tastes it, hears it…panic. A few deep breaths. Restore. Resurrect. Rehabilitate. Relax. R. Capital R. Another giggle.

He feels himself pushed back. He's lying on a table. Why? He looks around, everything is strewn everywhere. The world is gone. Black.

"Grantaire, you just passed out again! I need you to focus. Stay with me."

Ok, Ferre…You know, I'd love you too, if you asked…

A pause. A look. Oops, said that out loud, naughty naughty.

The doctor gives an irritated frown, shakes his head. Runs his fingers through thick, dirty brown hair.

The drunk coos, delighted by this sudden, strange contact. Alliteration again; such an easy habit to fall into.

A shy grin. You heard what I said? You felt what I meant…

"Ferre?"

"Lie still, Winecask."

Said so gently. Just like Enjolras. Enjolras Enjolras Enjolras. Because (as absolutely everyone in the entire existence of everything! Knows) Enjolras simply must be repeated. He gives himself a little mental hug, squirming with pleasure at the thought of Enjolras Enjolras Enjolras. He's gotten so very used to repeating it to himself, (at least three times) in his head, it sometimes slips out by accident: "Enjolras Enjolras…?" "Seeing double again, Winecask?" Like that. But even that is beautiful, so there's nothing wrong with it. Just an eternity of happy, beautiful images. He sighs, happily, and lets Ferre continue stroking.

After a moment, a question.

"Ferre?"

A sigh. "Yes, Winecask?" A pause. "Grantaire."

Another happy squirm. No one says his name; so rare. Sometimes, when waking alone in an alley or a gutter, trying to reacquaint himself with himself…the only name there is "Winecask". He hates it. Inevitable, so move on. There was a question…

"Why are you stroking me?"

Another sigh, amused this time. But against a backdrop of agony… "I'm not stroking you. I'm…checking you. For injuries." A strange pause. Courfeyrac would have said, "Oh, what do you really mean?" or something stupid like that, but not he. No, not Capital R. Ferre sounded hurt, so very very hurt, the kind of wound that you never recover from…like a broken heart.

Injuries?

"Injuries?"

"God…you really…you were really….You missed the whole thing, didn't you?" A note of horror, of scorn, of disgust…

"The whole…?"

One word: "Revolution."

It's too big a word; he can't understand it. Some cute stammering: "rev-a-what?" but they both know he doesn't really mean it. It's not the word that's the problem, he's heard it often enough. It's the concept, or the context, or something.

Ferre shakes his head. Either he'll understand or he won't.

Lying on a table…glass strewn everywhere, wood, bits and pieces, broken broken broken. The room is empty, besides this one, lonely table. One table, one chair, one drunk…Now, one doctor. A simple little inventory.

"It…it happened?"

"Yes, Grantaire."

"So…we won!" jubilation, before he remembers to rein it in. Most unseemly for a cynic, really!

"No, Grantaire." He points, and even as the arm moves, the poor man realizes his companion was never really there at all. He is, was, and has always been alone.

But not completely. There was always one other, no matter how alone, no matter how desperate or hurt or drunk. Always always always Enjolras Enjolras Enjolras.

If there had been a finger, attached to a hand, attached to an arm, attached to a body, attached to a doctor, who wasn't a just body, coldening outside, eyes staring wide…well. It would have pointed…there.

Snap. A view of himself, from the outside. He admires the simple, rough architecture. Like a country cottage, really…all brown and rough, wooden angles. Rustic, almost. Picturesque, if you were in the mood and mind for it. Playing billiards. Oh, the pretty red upholstery, see how it nestles the balls as they roll around. But wait. That's not right. He shakes his head.

It wasn't red; it was green, green like the bottle he held. There's one nearby. He hasn't played billiards in almost a week, but it's red now, surely. Yes. Red. Patchy red, with pretty little spatters. No billiard table was ever designed like this.

A little flash of gold.

A body, head angled down, so he won't have to see those eyes. Oh, gods, those burning, accusing, beautiful, glorious, radiant…endless stream of adjectives. Eyes. Shut, probably. Or staring. Watching the rivulets of blood, still running, still warm, down that beautiful marbeline chest. Oh.

Enjolras Enjolras Enjolras. He died, right there beside you, and you didn't even notice. Shot, over and over, stoic, brave and beautiful to the last. While you lay there, truly stupefied. Damn you, Winecask! You'll burn for this. What you feared most…and he's gone, now…

A scream.

(yes, this is the long-awaited companion to Winecask…and yes, it was just a dream, like Winecask. But, once I typed the last two words, I just couldn't do more. Anyway…hope you enjoy. Not quite as dark, but definitely along the same lines. I was reading "Do you hear the people sing?" by Takada Saiko, and it popped into my head (as I cried, good job) "What would R be most afraid of?" and I'd been trying to come up with something suitably caskish…and, of course, the solution was obvious…missing the revolution and losing Enjolras (and the others, love them too). So. Enjoy, and remember: Enjy and R together forever!)

(also, yes, I meant for the random confusion and disjointedness…just so ya know.)

(and I know coldening isn't a word. But it is now.)


End file.
